


Fix This

by Madness_Life_and_Choice



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: After WKM and WMW, Angst, Angst and Feels, Confusion, Flashbacks, Poor Wilford and his broken mind, Repressed Memories, how do I tag this? I do not know.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25869487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madness_Life_and_Choice/pseuds/Madness_Life_and_Choice
Summary: After Warfstache's encounter with the intrepid detective from his past, he decides to return to his typical routines. It was a shame none of his other old friends ever came to visit. He's quite forgetful most times, but a photograph triggers a memory that breaks through the cracks of his shattered mind. Wilford was never one to linger on the past, but this cuts him to the core. Where did she go?
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel
Kudos: 10





	Fix This

The man known as Wilford Warfstache was on his own once more. His little adventure with the Detective had turned out to be quite enjoyable! He regretted missing the train and the snow and whatnot, but it was lovely to finally see a friend from the good old days. With a new job as an investigative reporter, Wilford assumed things would become much more entertaining. Closing the blinds with a snap, he bent down to pick up some paperwork scattered on the floor of his apartment. A wind had blown through earlier, or perhaps he had kicked it over? He didn’t linger on it. He checked underneath the furniture of the room to make sure he hadn’t left any pages lying there. Taking a deep breath, he looked around. The place truly needed renovation… Where was the fun in such drab wallpaper? Pink was so much better. Seconds later, he shot up from his task, eyes alight with sudden glee. 

“Oh, I’d nearly forgotten again!” he exclaimed, shuffling through his random assortment of papers, then moving to pat down his pockets after a few minutes of searching. Eventually, he found his prize. He had left it by the windowsill. He was so forgetful at times. Picking up the tattered photograph clipping, he turned it over gently in his hand. Wilford unfolded it with utmost care, staring at it as if it was the last thing on the earth. He had swiped it from Abe’s study. He’s sure the man won’t mind. The Detective must’ve pulled it from a newspaper of some sort, he mused. The edges were curled and yellowed with time. How long had it been? It doesn’t matter. 

Looking slyly back at him is Her. The woman of the hour: Celine. The temptress that could steal your heart, crush it in front of you, and leave you still wearing a smile. Frozen in time, she dons her signature dress, holding a coupe glass of champagne, smiling lightly at something out of frame. Others chat with her by the table of some superfluous event. It didn’t matter which one it was, his memories were blurred, she was the only focus. He swore he could see the red of the rose in her hair through the black and white. Beautiful. He looked closer and paused in shock. 

“Ah, the picture’s all wrong.” Wilford shook the paper lightly, as if trying to return the truth to its faded print. “Her eyes look sad. Why is she sad, how could she be sad? That isn’t right. I can fix this.”

Warfstache shook the picture again, to no avail. He walked in a stumbling gait over to his desk, wrenching out a blank piece of paper from the drawer. He yanked the fountain pen from its inkwell, leaving a trail of black from its source. _I can fix this_ . His eyes flashed to the picture on the desk, making sure no ink had made its way to mar the image’s subject. He wiped a bit of the dark substance off the picture’s corner, leaving a faint black smudge, and returned to begin his writing. _She just needs a break, Mark can often be such a -- well, let’s not speak ill of the --_ He shook his head. The fountain pen moved swiftly as he began to pen his letter, ‘Dearest Celine,’

 _But where is she?_ Wilford dropped the pen, the sound more jarring, yet more muted than he could imagine. Memories assaulted his broken mind, cutting him like shards of glass. 

_“Damien, you rapscallion, where are you? Celine! Oh, it’s time to come out now!” The Colonel called out into the house hysterically. He stumbled through the kitchen, ignoring the scattered mess in the dining room and on the counters._ **_I can fix this_ ** _“It was good, it was good. You almost had me!”_

_He looked in the closet under the fifth set of stairs. That’s where they always hid in their little games, stealing biscuits from the cook and playing hide-and seek. He yanked the door open to find nothing but broken brooms and cobwebs. Nothing._

_The Colonel turned on his heel, running to the garden to look among the roses. That’s where he always found her._ **_I can fix this._ ** _That’s where they always met. Where are they? He looks up to see a figure making their way around the back patio._

 _“Damien!” Wil shouted in relief. He was looking a little disheveled, but he was there nonetheless. He must’ve found a wonderful hiding spot!_ **_I can fix this_ **

_“Damien! Where were you hiding? Where’s Celine?”_ **_I can fix this_** _Wil picked up his pace and quickly shambled up the steps to follow him._ ** _I can fix this_** _Damien made no response, instead turning down the path to the other side of the house. “Damien, wait up!”_ ** _I can fix this_**

 _Wil rounded the corner to find the figure gone._ **_Gone - I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this_ ** _He looked to around the patio, crossing it to throw open the doors. “Where are you? I saw you! Come out now!” He tripped over the yellow tape in the living room, tears filling his eyes._ **_I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this I can fix this can I fix this?_ ** _“Celine! Stop this joke isn’t funny anymore!” He turned wildly through the winding halls, throwing open every door. Hours, hours, hours he searched until he found himself in the front entryway, left with a blood stained carpet and a broken mirror._ **_Can I fix this? Can I fix this Can I fix this Sadness in her eyes, lights gone, broken eyes, missed hand broken eyes broken glass. Can I fix this? Gone gone g o n e go--_ **

The Colonel fell from his chair, the contents of the desk scattering along with him. **_Alone. Gone._** They never came. He crawled over to pick up the scrap of paper, but his fall had done its damage. The ink was spattered across the picture. Celine’s eyes, her smile. **_Gone._** _Where did she go?_ He struggled over to lean his head by the wall, his legs as useless as a marionette with cut strings. 

“Celine,” he whispered brokenly, the words barely escaping his mouth. “Why won’t you come back?”


End file.
